


The Enigma of The Superego

by Legbird



Category: Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions
Genre: M/M, and boyfriend cuddles, how about some sad nightmares, wOO FIRST FIC SINCE LAST YEAR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legbird/pseuds/Legbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-OR events, Also known as "A year after Maxie almost set the entire planet on fire". Involves Maxie, a nightmare, and a big question as to how you deal with knowing you'e that guy who almost killed everyone by  way of a huge ego and horrible plan. Thank god Archie's there to keep him..........grounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Enigma of The Superego

Maxie is proud of a lot of things, but creating an algorithm for a ceiling fan’s general speed isn’t one of them. The fact that the speed is in all actuality, hypothetical, only makes the ire worse. So he stays, staring foggily up at a blur of a fan left turned off in the middle of the night, making up scenarios just to keep himself awake. Ever since the incident in the seafloor cavern, he could say he’s been haunted by the vague nightmares- if he can even call them nightmares- every time he tries to sleep. 

A part of him has too much trouble realizing fact from fiction, nightmare from the truth. Egomania is a term that he often thinks about when looking for something to blame his vague confusion on. That his mind refuses to remember ever being wrong. That being wrong was some celestial taboo that only exists to terrify him in the dead of night. It’s a safe bet, he assures himself. That maybe the events in his dreams are nothing but dreams and horribly distorted memories.  
But, the dreams are never the same, and he never remembered drowning complacently or being devoured by the magma within the cavern itself. At this point, however, drowning is a reoccurring theme. He thinks himself a fool for even trying to rationalize the dreams, for even thinking it’s safe to sleep anymore.

There’s absolute darkness before he wakes up again, returning to the surface of of the cavern, air thick with smog and ash, the trembling floor, an empty pool of lava and the exact same feeling of staying absolutely frozen in a quiet, paralyzed fear. There’s voices he recognizes, varying levels of distress and accusation against his own thoughts- seemingly stopped for now. 

“I warned you.” 

A voice from behind him, blunt and a little louder than the roar of the shaking. He doesn’t turn around, the near-condescending voice is familiar enough.

“I’m aware, Archie.” Maxie says slowly, staring down where the legend had previously been. “You don’t have to tell me again.”

“Feels like I honestly should though. Because you’re standing here and doing absolutely nothing. So, kinda looks like you’re definitely clueless.” Archie chides smugly.

“I’m not clueless. Just, rethinking things. A minor setback.” Maxie says, turning to face the other, eyes tired. The admins had left, in this instance. There are inconsistencies in this memory, and they choose to make themselves blatantly obvious. Being abandoned with the enemy couldn’t have happened. The child is nowhere to be found. There’s more judgment traded between the two without the rest of the words.

“So, that’s what thinking looks like?” Archie mutters coyly, and Maxie stops listening.   
He’s heard this scenario enough, he knows everything that could be said, every variation. Maxie can only shrug, still mentally stunted by the general feeling of the frost until a new word makes it’s way into the stream of apocalyptic monologue.

“You did a damn good job of dooming all of us.”

The new word is a shockwave in the air, and Maxie stares back, baffled for a minute against the extra quaking of the cavern. Ash comes up in plumes with the smog, and he’s never felt colder in this moment. The idea of the conversation seems more tangible than ever, and he hears himself say something that sounds more like it comes from a body further away, stiff and disconnected. 

“It seems I have.”

The earth rumbles beneath his feet, a possible warning telling him to stand still, to stay there and stop running, to face the truth. The sheer veil of ash between himself and Archie is almost ghastly, and he hates how he flinches when he hears Archie’s accusation. 

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what evolution looks like?” They come out as roars, intense and crashing down like waves, and when the smog settles, Maxie swears he can see something etched on Archie’s face beyond the yelling. Anger. 

Fear.

For the first time, he registers fear for the both of them, and it’s the creeping feeling that he’s not fearing failure. They’re on the same page, this time. It’s the terror of impending death, being doomed.

“I need an answer, Maxie!” Archie booms again, the nerves apparent in the commentary, stress bubbling between them. He wants answers, and Maxie- despite everything, can’t give them. He stares though, corners of his mouth pulled to a tight frown with furrowed brows, eyes wide. Trapped.  
The rumbling continues, and the ground shifts beneath him, splintering and crackling with each demand.

“I don’t know! No one could have foreseen this, I condemn the destruction of our world, of course, but I still don’t know!” Maxie finally snaps like the fault lines under him, utter terror mutating to adrenaline, pale fists going whiter around the knuckles.

“You knew damn well what you were doing!” Is Archie’s retort, demanding more than Maxie is truly willing to give, let alone admit, in this situation.  
Silence, however, comes at a cost, the the scene itself dissipates into an echoing darkness with a thunderclap of thee ground giving way, but Maxie doesn’t truly see anything. The   
darkness takes over, and he can feel the falling.

But this time, there’s nothing cold and vast to suffocate him, no water or ice in a riptide to break bones. Just the absolute slow sinking and burning of something completely different. For some reason, he can’t find the willpower to yell out or react to the pain. Instead, he settles for complacency. If he struggles, it’ll only make it worse.  
Maxie wakes up with a jolt, body burning with the fervent hacking and wheezing that transferred from the nightmare, head in his hands with the heels of his palms in his eyes- elbows jamming into his thighs with desperate vigor until the coughing subsides. It’s been a year, and the fact that the issue remains only serves to make him uneasy. He’s burned his bridges, apologized where apologies were needed, and yet, here he is.  
He scoffs at the idea of the guilt being ingrained into his being, his ego branded with the general concept of failure and the near apocalyptic events of his own “perfect” plan. He’s too involved in his own thoughts to pay attention when the body next to him shifts, and groggily comments on the mild coughing fit before it can end.

“Wouldn’ be a problem if ya didn’ smoke.” 

He almost jumps.

He forgot about him.

“Smoking isn’t an issue, that’s an occasional stress-related habit. It’s a controlled amount of smog and the absolute least of my worries.” He spits out, possibly more jumbled than he would really want when Archie eyes him hazily, groaning under his breath when he adjusts to a more upright position, hand splayed on a rigid back.

“You smoke more than Mount Chimney, don’ act like you’re not doing it.” He scoffs playfully, a bit chastising between the lines. Maxie realizes Archie doesn’t get the real issue yet. 

He figures he can play along. Save himself the embarrassment.

“Of course. Because an occasional smoking habit turns oneself into a volcano. How astute of you.” Maxie mutters, and the hand on his back tenses. 

“Been with ya a whole year and you’re a pack a week. Not to mention you keep waking up. Not as stoic as ya wanna be, I’ll give you that much, Max.” Archie points out, tired eyes vaguely cautious when he tries to lead Maxie back to lay down. The motion flows awkwardly at first before Maxie gives into laying against the sailor with a sort of resignation. A mumble of a “Thank you” when shorter fingers start running through his hair, evading the minor masses of tangles. He presses his forehead against Archie’s chest, an evasive   
measure, avoiding conversation, answering things, eye contact.

He’s still shaken by the burning.

The echo of the term doom comes back like a raw brand, and he’s sure he shudders at the thought. Maybe he could free himself by bringing up the subject. By trying to reaffirm the truth, deny delusions.

“You alright?” Archie asks, half quiet mumble, and Maxie mutters something that isn’t an answer. He can feel him waiting for a response, and even if the guilt would vanish after talking about his thoughts, that looming fear of the plates shifting underneath him comes back. He needs to say something. Anything.  
And at the risk of his pride, he stays close and mutters.

“I don’t know.”


End file.
